


Every Breath You Take

by AuroraKant



Series: Whumptober2020 [28]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: And A VERY SWEET ENDING, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Cuddles, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Batman, Gen, Happy Ending, Intubation, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attack, Protective Batfamily (DCU), restrains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27264832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/pseuds/AuroraKant
Summary: Dick was sure it wasn’t Scarecrow they were dealing with. The tingling sensation that was starting to spread from the puncture was nothing like the almost familiar dread that came from being hit with fear toxin. It also didn’t feel like the Joker – Dick didn’t feel particularly overjoyed.It felt like nothing he had ever felt before.Or: During a hectic patrol after an Arkham outbreak, Dick gets hit by an unknown substance that steals his breath away. Damian, Jason, Tim, and Cass are doing their best to safe him.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Series: Whumptober2020 [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948651
Comments: 14
Kudos: 293
Collections: Dick Grayson Whump, Whumptober 2020





	Every Breath You Take

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> ONLY TWO DAYS TO GO!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT???? WOW!!  
> I hope you are going to enjoy this!  
> And if you want to know why I tagged Medical Inaccuracies just scroll down to the end notes! :D
> 
> Comments, Kudos and Bookmarks make me extremely happy!!! <3<3<3

It happened during their third battle of the day.

Night, really.

Arkham outbreaks were the worst, and Dick was cursing the Joker for the bombs that had allowed almost all known inmates to escape… After they fought Poison Ivy in Robinson Park and the Riddler in Gotham U, they were now hunting Killer Croc in the sewers.

Dick hated the sewers. He hated them even when he wasn’t forced to wear a cape that dragged behind him, heavy with the weight of the world.

But now the cape was twice was heavy drenched in things… Dick really didn’t want to think about. It was enough that he could smell them. Robin was by his side, the look on his face was angry and disgusted. Dick couldn’t blame him – the night had been long, and the smell was really something.

It was an all hands on deck kind of situation, Arkham usually was, and that meant Robin by his side, Red Robin with Batgirl on the other side of the city hunting Firefly, and Black Bat keeping watch over the Red Hood as they both searched for Scarecrow. Oracle was instructed to inform them as soon as Black Mask or Joker got spotted somewhere.

No luck for now on that front, but Dick would worry about that later.

First came the criminals that engaged in… immediate action instead of long-term game plans. Killer Croc was straight forward. Waylon wasn't even too bad. The new Metropolis psychiatrist had begun behavioral therapy with him, and it seemed to really be helping with his anger issues. Dick just needed a chance to subdue him and everything would be fine – no one had to get eaten, and there was no need to make it any harder for Waylon than it had to be.

The man in question had run into a dead-end anyways, and Dick could feel Robin tense by his side. They would attack from two sides, both of them carrying one dose of the tranquilizer they needed to knock Waylon out.

Dick jumped forward on the count of three, Batman’s cape flaring out behind him. Dick hated the way the Cowl made him feel, hated the way everything seemed so much darker whenever he forced himself to channel Bruce… but he had to admit, the dramatics were fun.

Damian moved in tandem with him, Dick’s fist connecting with Waylon’s side, Damian jumping over Killer Croc’s tail when the man turned towards Batman. They were a well-oiled machine, Waylon lost in his rage. Batman and Robin were prepared, no strike left un-countered.

Dick watched as Damian shot the tranquilizer, pushing himself away from Waylon’s torso where he had just wrestled with the crocodile man, and landed in the open end of the tunnel. His feet made a wet splashing sound, and Dick was once again reminded of the fact that their glorious battle had taken place in a sewer.

It stank.

Especially since they would have to find a way to carry Killer Croc’s impressive 6”5’ feet body out of the underground tunnels. It would suck – and it would put a damper on their schedule. There were many other criminals that still needed to be apprehended, before Batman could hang up the Cowl for the night and catch a few hours of sleep.

From what Dick could tell from the background chatter over the comms, Scarecrow hadn’t been found yet, and neither had Jonathan Arkham or Professor Milo or Mad Hatter or anyone of the other costumed freaks that liked to toy with chemicals.

They would have to guard the water supply particularly fiercely over the coming weeks. Dick wasn’t in the mood for the battle of wills that would follow, scrutinizing his decision to prioritize the heavy hitters over the planners.

Jason – reluctantly back in the fold for maybe two weeks now – wouldn’t be happy with Dick’s call and neither would Tim. Cass would understand. Maybe. At least Dick hoped so, and Steph… it was always hard to say what Steph was thinking when it came to him.

He thought they might have had a chance at a wonderful friendship once upon a time, but now he wore the Cowl and Steph… she had understandably quite complex feelings regarding the Cowl. Or the man, who once wore it.

There would be many screaming matches in the weeks to come, and Dick was already tired. So, so tired.

He watched as Robin jumped away from Killer Croc, a safe distance between them. He was now on the other side of Waylon, far away from Dick. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, the idea of Robin being without backup behind a dangerous man, an uncomfortable one. But the tranquilizer would kick in soon. And it was a dead-end. Nobody could surprise Robin from behind.

And yet Dick couldn’t help himself. His focus was split between Waylon, who was beginning to blink and groan and sway, and Robin who looked so small next to the hulking form of Killer Croc.

That was his mistake.

Or maybe it was the fact that he turned around when Damian yelled:

“Batman! Watch out!”

Something pierced his neck only a moment later. Dick’s hand was raised, feeling the needle and the small feathers that had struck him with his gauntlet. He had no idea if it was safe to remove the dart, his eyes scanning the darkness behind him.

The attack had come from his left, but no matter how closely Dick watched… there was nothing out of order, the sewer empty and silent.

With his gaze still firmly glued to the tunnel to his left, Dick raised his hand further, activating the comm:

“Batman to all units – I have been hit by an unknown substance. It is not obvious who the perpetrator was or is. Robin and I are in the sewers and we might require backup.”

“What is your status?”

Babs had never been one to play around, and Dick appreciated it greatly in moments like this. He could feel his own panic, his own uncertainty, and it helped to be confronted with someone who was not falling apart on the inside. Or at least not falling apart in a way Dick could see:

“I’m not feeling any effects yet, but I will monitor the situation.” – one glance behind him – “We have successfully apprehended Waylon, and someone needs to help us get him out of here. I would love to keep whatever was in that dart from spreading through my body faster.”

“Is there a possibility that there was nothing on the dart? Just a decoy?”

Tim. Tim, who was still mad with Dick, and understandably so. Tim, who had every reason to doubt Dick, even if Dick was just so… tired of all the tense silences and intense staring matches.

“We can’t risk it. Even if it is nothing, it means that an assailant is close to Batman and Robin and they are exhausted after their last fight. Red Hood, Black Bat – you are the closest and not currently engaged in battle. Take the Batmobile and head over to the location I sent you.”

Dick was once again grateful for Babs. Her reasoning was sound – and Dick just didn’t have the energy to argue with Tim. He couldn’t spot the attacker, and that’s what really worried him. Gotham’s villains liked to be flashy. They liked it, when Batman knew exactly just who had attacked him.

It’s what made them so dangerous – but also so predictable.

Half the time, the knowledge that Black Mask would favor the harbor and the Riddler liked midtown was what made it possible for Batman to foil their plans.

But this? This had just been a shadow and a dart with an unknown substance.

Dick didn’t know what the rules to this particular game were, and he had the strong suspicion that he didn’t want to find out.

But there was nothing he could do about that now, his hand rising to the cowl one last time before turning around:

“I will wait and keep you updated. Batman out.”

Killer Croc had fallen, a relaxed expression on the usually so angry face. Robin hadn’t yet moved from his position behind the man, something cautious in his stance. He was afraid. Damian was afraid – and Dick could understand why.

“Robin, status?”

“I am fine. It is _you_ we have to worry about!”

“And we will – but we can do our best to follow protocol until we know what exactly we are dealing with.”

And they did, Robin quick to secure Waylon with the special handcuffs they had brought with them. Dick was sure it wasn’t Scarecrow they were dealing with. The tingling sensation that was starting to spread from the puncture was nothing like the almost familiar dread that came from being hit with fear toxin. It also didn’t feel like the Joker – Dick didn’t feel particularly overjoyed.

It felt like nothing he had ever felt before.

They were nearing the five-minute mark after exposure, when Dick activated his comm unit again:

“Status report, Batman: There was definitely something on the needle. A tingling sensation is spreading from the wound on my neck towards my jaw and collarbone. No other effects yet.”

Robin next to him stiffened, the smaller body taking a step closer towards Dick. Waylon laid unconscious between them, and now Damian bridged that distance.

Anyone who said the boy was unfeeling had absolutely no idea. Damian was compassionate and caring – Dick just wished he could show the entire world how soft and lovable this child was. But Damian wouldn’t want that, would see it as a slight against his person should Dick try… so, he didn’t.

Instead, he raised his arm, so that Damian could lean against him. Together they waited.

It didn’t take long for Dick to notice other effects as well. His mouth was becoming dry, almost painfully so, and when Dick tried to swallow the action was harder than it had any right to be.

_Fuck._

“Status report, Batman… more immediate effects to… to throat area. It is getting harder to… swallow and…”

His breath was coming in short bursts and Dick allowed himself to lean more of his weight on Damian. He didn’t want to burden the boy, but right now it was more important to try and take deep breaths. Damian could support him – Robin had to be a strong bird to fly by Batman’s side.

“Red Hood and Black Bat will reach you in ETA two minutes. Try to keep calm until then, okay?”

“Yeah…”

Dick didn’t have enough air to give Babs a longer answer, the tight feeling in his chest growing. It was uncomfortable – not suffocating, not yet, but strange and a bit painful, nonetheless. Damian next to him stood strong, his little bird carrying the burden like a champ.

The next two minutes took half an eternity. By the time the signature splash of Red Hood’s boots could be heard echoing down the sewers, Dick was wheezing. Damian was the only thing holding him upright, as his throat closed up more and more. Swallowing was… hard if not impossible, and Dick was almost thankful for the dryness of his mouth, because otherwise he would have drool running down the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, we are here!” Jason announced their arrival rather unnecessarily.

Dick let his eyes flicker upwards, scanning the red helmet, and the shadow behind him. Cass and Jason – they would be able to help. They’d have to.

“He can’t breathe, you dimwits, so help me save his life.”

Damian’s voice was harsh, but Dick definitely understood where he was coming from. Panic had always made Bruce sound angry as well – fear was an emotion no Wayne wore well. Not that Dick had any chance to negotiate or explain just that, oxygen only entering his bloodstreams in tiny bursts.

He definitely felt as if he was suffocating now.

“No fight.” Cass’s tone was final, and for once everyone seemed to agree, Jason scanning their surroundings before he declared:

“Since Big Bird looks bluer by the seconds, let’s get him out of here. I will radio in the GCPD – them taking care of Waylon might not be ideal, but I think we have to prioritize Batman’s health just this once. _Hah_!”

There was something bitter lingering in Jason’s voice, but Dick could do little more then let his head loll against Jason’s broad shoulders. It was strange to think that this man was slowly becoming his brother once more. Jason stepped closer and hoisted him up.

“If Big Bird throws up or drools on me, I am going to leave him here to die.”

“You will do no such thing, Todd!”

Damian was defending Dick’s honor, while he himself couldn’t even tell them that he was still conscious. His entire body felt… weak. His legs and arms were uselessly hanging down, from where Dick was draped over Jason’s shoulder, and his head felt too heavy.

It was getting harder and harder to breathe, but Dick had no idea how to communicate that. His tongue was suddenly a numb piece of flesh in his mouth, and his entire throat didn’t react when Dick tried to force it to contract.

They were moving, but Dick couldn’t really follow anymore. His mind was buzzing, panic and fear cursing through his veins – his mouth wouldn’t move. His lungs wouldn’t breathe.

The light was a surprise, and suddenly the permanent smell of shit was replaced with the usual Gotham aroma of exhaust and human suffering. They had reached the surface and Dick hadn’t even noticed.

The others were talking, his mind supplied, but Dick couldn’t focus enough to understand what they were saying. And then… Dick tried to suck oxygen into his strained airways, he was trying to get some air down his throat and into his lungs but… but… _nothing._

No air.

No breath.

No oxygen.

In any other situation Dick would have trashed, would have fought for his ability to breathe, but his body had been starved for oxygen for a couple of minutes already and his muscles were weak and unresponsive. He was silent as the black began to haunt his vision, he was silent as he felt his life beginning to bleed away.

In the end it was probably Cass who saved his life, her eyes all-seeing, her instincts laser sharp. Her yell of “Batman – no air!” was so clear and loud, even Dick could hear it through the thumping in his ears, through the echo of his heartbeat growing more desperate and frantic.

His body hit the floor with a silent thump and suddenly Jason was leaning over him, slapping his cheeks, yelling something. Dick didn’t react – he couldn’t. Instead, he wanted to beg them to make sure that Damian wasn’t watching. His boy didn’t need to see this, shouldn’t be forced to watch another guardian die, another loved one perish.

But Dick didn’t see if Cass stepped in and turned Damian away, because Jason filled out his entire dimming field of vision, the helmet lost somewhere in the commotion. Lips were pressed against his, his nose rather painfully pinched, and Dick had the vague feeling that this was… weird. And not in the good way.

But it was hard to focus on anything. It was hard to think about the fact that Jason was currently desperately trying to push air into Dick’s lungs because… because Dick could feel himself dying.

And that was scary.

All his limbs were numb now, not just his tongue and throat, and there was black swallowing the corner of his vision… Dick had the vague feeling that he wouldn’t see any color ever again should the black manage to pull him under.

He wanted to live.

Of course, he wanted to live. Gotham needed him, Batman needed him--- his… family needed him. But as the lips forcing him to breathe grew farther and farther away, Dick found it hard to keep on holding tight.

That was until a sharp pain forced him back into awareness, if only for a moment.

Damian was standing above him, horror coloring his face ugly. Dick could see blood dripping down Damian’s hands and… and… he didn’t understand, until suddenly a wave of air hit his lungs, and relief flooded Dick’s system.

Damian had… he had… opened up his airways so Dick could breathe again he… Dick could taste blood coating the insides of his mouth, even though his tongue was still as unresponsive as before… he could… the darkness was still… he…

His eyes fell closed, and this time Dick didn’t fight it. There was air in his lungs – there was hope.

* * *

Jason… Jason hadn’t really counted on this when he started making amends with the current Batman.

It had been a long and rocky road, but somehow Jason had no longer found it in himself to stay so desperately angry at Dick and Bruce and the world when… well, when the original Batman was dead. Jason had even grieved when the message reached him and in his surprise over the death of a man that had been his enemy, his mentor, his dad… he had found that it was so much easier to forgive the dead.

That didn’t mean that Jason wanted Dick to die as well.

At first Jason hadn’t worried too much when Dick phoned in his emergency, and now, after Cass alerted him to the fact that Dick had fucking stopped breathing, the severity of the situation still didn’t feel real.

Jason had to use rescue breaths on his brother, for fuck’s sake! Only to watch as they did nothing, only to watch as the lips of his brother turned blue, and his eyes grew distant and glassy. Jason knew what the eyes of a dead person looked like.

He saw them in his own face every morning when he left his bed behind, and he saw them each time the rage returned, and he was forced to kill.

He didn’t want to see them in the faces of his allies. He didn’t want to be forced to watch his brother die! Not so soon after he had finally gotten them back.

Still, he hadn’t counted on the Gremlin, that’s for sure.

Dick had… Jason’s rescue breaths had done nothing, Dick only growing stiller underneath him. Then Damian had pushed Jason away, a knife in his hand. Which idiot allowed Robin to carry a knife was a question for another time, Jason too dazed by the sudden attack and the panic growing in his stomach to react.

But Damian pushed Jason away, and Cass let the Brat do it, so Jason assumed it had to be okay.

He watched as the boy kneeled over Dick’s face and… and pushed his knife into Dick’s throat. A surge of adrenaline made his muscles tense, his brain catching up with his raised fist a second later: Damian hadn’t killed Dick. No… Jason looked again, his fist stopped by Cass, and he saw what he should have done from the very beginning.

Damian had cut into Dick’s trachea, opening up a direct path from Dick’s lungs to the fresh air that didn’t have to pass through Dick’s obviously closed up throat.

As Jason kept on looking, all of them so silent in their fear, Dick opened his eyes, confusion and pain visible on his face. For a moment his eyes focused on Damian, before they rolled back, and real unconsciousness claimed him. Blood was pouring from the wound on his neck, but at least he was… breathing, a barely visible raise and fall of Dick’s chest noticeable.

Damian was shaking where he stood, blood dripping from his hands, the knife laying forgotten on the ground next to Dick.

Jason… he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, but Cass reacted fast. She pushed Damian towards Jason, and Jason caught the boy from his position on the floor, pressing the smaller body against his own out of pure reflex. Meanwhile, Cass pulled a rebreather from her belt, and – as Jason watched with disgust heavy in the air – pushed it inside the bleeding hole in Dick’s neck.

“To be sure.” Cass said, and Jason agreed.

Her voice was the first sound that had registered in Jason’s brain since Dick had stopped breathing and it felt like salvation. No matter what came next, they had survived the first storm.

They had no idea what would happen next, they didn’t know if Dick would die some other way, or if the intubation would be enough – maybe next his heart would give out. They would lose no matter what, should that happen.

Damian was still shaking in Jason’s arms, and Cass met his gaze over the traumatized boy. They both agreed on one other thing at least: They had to get to the Bunker as fast as possible.

* * *

The numbers in front of him weren’t lying, Tim only wished they were. Because if they were lying Tim would have _something_ – like this there was nothing he could do.

Because the numbers told him there was nothing wrong with Dick – as if the man wasn’t currently dying behind him. But Tim had run his tests three times now, checking Dick’s blood for everything known to man and alien and yet… nothing, nada, finite. Not even a trace of poison was left in Dick’s blood…

Which meant… that Tim had no idea what to do next.

The longer the screen in front of him remained without an answer, the harder it was to ignore the sound of the ventilator behind him. The steady hiss and swish filled the entire bunker, stifling any sound and any amount of hope.

It was as if Tim was drowning – each hiss filling his mouth with water, each swish forcing him to swallow.

He couldn’t help himself, his gaze wandering towards Dick and… it was a horrible sight. Dick looked whole and silent and dead. His face was pale, his lips and nails tinged blue – and there was a ventilator connected to the incision Damian had performed to save Dick’s life.

Dick had once again reached critical condition when Jason, Cass, and Damian spilled out of the car, but Tim knew how to give credit where credit was due: Dick wouldn’t have survived as long as he did if it hadn’t been for the Brat and the knife he smuggled onto patrol.

Gotham was a burning mess, the Arkham inmates still running havoc, and the entire Batclan had convened here, to watch over a Batman who was dying.

Not that Tim would let that happen, of course. He would never again watch as Batman died – even if it was Dick, who didn’t believe him. Maybe especially because of that. Tim just couldn’t lose another one. Couldn’t lose a brother, so soon after losing a dad.

(and he would find him and bring him back and he would make sure the world was alright again – but Dick needed to be alive when Bruce came back)

And yet he was forced to watch as a machine breathed for Dick. His lungs had just… stopped working.

They didn’t know much about whatever the fuck the dart was coated in, but they could pierce together this much:

It was a neurotoxin, paralyzing the mouth, throat, lung, and diaphragm completely. Dick hadn’t regained consciousness yet – and that wouldn’t be pretty either – but from what Alfred had been able to discern, Dick could neither swallow nor breathe nor move his tongue on his own.

The moment the ventilator stopped working, Dick would be dead. The moment something caught in his throat, he would be dead. The moment his diaphragm spasmed for whatever reason, he would be dead.

There was too much risk, too much danger – and Tim couldn’t find a damned clue on how to save his brother!

The Gremlin had vanished into the bathroom hours ago, and some part of Tim wanted to reach out to the boy… nobody deserved to be alone in a situation like this – Tim didn’t want to be alone in a situation like this – but the larger part of him knew, where he was needed. Just where his place was.

He looked back towards the numbers displayed in front of him.

There had to be _something._

* * *

Damian was washing his hands – _again._

No matter what he did, Grayson’s blood didn’t disappear down the drain. He felt like Macbeth… going insane staring at the blood of a person he never meant to hurt.

But hiding in the bathroom was better than being out there in the Bunker. Pennyworth, Todd and Cain were working away on Grayson, and Drake had barricaded himself on the computer to find a solution to a problem they couldn’t yet understand.

Damian would only be in the way should he go back outside.

He neither had the chemical knowledge to prove himself superior to Drake in finding the source of Grayson’s suffering, nor was he strong or medically experienced enough to handle the dead weight of his mentor.

He was inadequate.

He had been unable to stop the dart that hit Grayson as well, even though Damian had seen the shadow move. He had seen the attack – and yet he’d been helpless as he watched Grayson fall. It had only happened because Damian had ended their fight against the crocodile man in a disadvantaged position. Damian had made a mistake, but Grayson was the one suffering because of it…

Grayson had worried for him and now he was paying the price.

It just wasn’t _fair_!

Damian would only be in the way should he rejoin the rest of the family. Instead he washed his hands once more. He had to get them clean somehow.

It was Cain that came for him, her steps as silent as always.

Cain was truly the prodigy of his father who deserved the name the most – and Damian liked her on the days he was strong enough to like himself. Otherwise, he could only see the competition she represented.

But not today, today she was no enemy at all, no concurrent or fiend – today she was silent and sad:

“He is awake – come be with him.”

It would hurt – and Damian couldn’t even toy with the idea, that Grayson might want to see him. Damian had hurt him after all. First, with his mistake during the fight and then, when he saw himself forced to push a knife through his mentor’s throat, in an effort to save his life.

That must have been painful – it certainly stained Damian’s hands permanently red.

Cain must have seen him struggle, since she offered him a hug. Damian evaded the maneuver. He was stronger than that. Hugs and comfort had no place in the life of a warrior. And yet a warrior owed it to his people to be by their side should they be in pain or suffer.

Damian owed it to Batman to be by his side.

He pushed past Cain back into the Bunker. The sounds of the ventilator and the pitiful moaning of Grayson immediately filled his ears.

He should have stayed back.

But Damian had never known what was best for himself, so he pushed forward. He crossed the Bunker, Cain only a couple of steps behind him, and he reached the medical bed Grayson laid on.

The man, who appeared so strong and regal when he wore the mantel of the Bat, looked pitiful.

Grayson’s eyes were open, but they were hazy with pain. A layer of sweat coated his skin, and Damian could swear that he was suffering from a fever as well as just the poison that had stolen his breath. Pennyworth had restrained Grayson’s arms, and Damian’s incredulous question died in his throat when he saw the scratch mark on the older man’s neck.

Pennyworth seemed to have sensed Damian’s remark anyway, however:

“It appears Master Richard is rather confused. Understandably – he is in pain and an intubation is something quite disturbing for the human body. I am sure he would appreciate your company, though, Master Damian.”

Why was he here then? Damian wanted to ask. If Grayson was confused and in pain, why did Damian need to be here?

But he stayed silent. He stayed silent and watched as a machine forced Grayson’s chest to expand, and a fever wrecked the already broken man.

He watched and wished for another day, a better day. He watched and wished for his favorite person to get better. To be okay.

His fingers were slow as he reached towards Grayson, taking the larger hand in his. Yes, Grayson was most certainly running a fever – and Damian would never let go. He was Robin after all, and it seemed as if Batman needed him:

“I am sorry, Grayson… Richard. I will watch over you.”

* * *

He couldn’t breathe.

That was the first thing he noticed.

He couldn’t breathe. Intense pain was coating his entire being, and something was wrong – there was something wrong with his chest and throat. _It hurt_.

Why did it hurt?

Why couldn’t he breathe?

No matter how hard he tried, there was no air being sucked in through his nose. And yet… and yet he wasn’t suffocating.

He was… breathing? But not? And why did it hurt?

_Dick wanted it to stop hurting! He wanted the pain to stop!_

The world was hazy around him, blinding lights penetrating his eyes, weird sounds echoing in his ears. Had he been caught? Was he in danger? He just… why couldn’t he breathe? Why wasn’t the pain stopping?

A dark shape appeared in the corner of his field of vision, and Dick wanted to run… but he could barely move. His body was so heavy, lead weights pulling him down, tying him to the ground… But he was the Batman! He had to defend himself!

The shadow came back, and this time Dick was ready, his hand connecting with the… the man. It was a man, and the yell that echoed through the room sounded familiar as well.

_Alfred?_

What was Alfred doing here?

Tears ran down his cheeks, and they felt cool against his skin – why was it so warm? He just needed to cool down. Someone should make the pain stop.

Something alien was stuck in his throat, but Dick couldn’t even manage to turn his head… why was his neck so stiff? Why did… _why did it hurt so much?_

Claws were pulling on his arms, and Dick fought – or he wanted to – but suddenly something was restraining him, and Dick couldn’t see what it was. He couldn’t see it – and yet his arms didn’t budge no matter how hard he pulled, no matter how much…

Where had his voice gone?

Why couldn’t he scream for help?

He couldn’t breathe. He should be screaming. Or begging.

Dick was no longer above begging if only it got rid of that horrible alien feeling inside of him. He wanted it gone… the ache ran bone-deep, and it was unsettling. It was foreign. _It hurt_.

People were talking, but it was too much. The voices were grating on his ears, the words undiscernible – and why would Dick want to listen anyway? He just… he needed the pain to stop.

There was… something small and cool was touching his arm, and Dick… he didn’t flinch. It was… maybe they could help? Maybe they could make it stop? It hurt… why did it hurt so much?

It was… Robin standing next to him. Touching him. But wasn’t Dick Robin? No, Dick was Batman.

His arms were so heavy, and something was… why couldn’t he move them? Why couldn’t he fight? Why couldn’t he scream?

It was… Damian’s voice that pierced through the fog in his mind, and Dick almost wept in response to the voice he knew and loved and cared for:

“I am sorry, Grayson… Richard. I will watch over you.”

Dick closed his eyes… _he couldn’t breathe_.

And when he opened them again, he still couldn’t draw a breath.

But this time when he woke up, the world made a bit more sense, even if Dick had no idea why his chest felt as if it had been hit by a sledgehammer and his throat burned. Pain was flooding through his veins, and something was very, very wrong…

(what was happening in his chest? Why didn’t his tongue react? Why did he feel so numb and yet so tortured?)

But he recognized the Cave, the med bay. He recognized the medical bed he was laying on, and he recognized the sound of the machine next to him for what it was: Medical equipment keeping him alive. That would at least explain the pain. The fear. The _wrongness_.

**The pain.**

Something heavy was pressing down on his arm, but when Dick tried to move and sooth whoever had fallen asleep by his bedside – he could see a tuff of black hair which didn’t really help narrow it down – he noticed that he couldn’t.

Adrenaline spiked his heartrate, and Dick had to press his eyes closed to not just… to not just start crying. Something wasn’t alright – he wasn’t alright. He… he couldn’t make a sound, his voice gone, his tongue like playdoh in this mouth.

And then there was… there was the pain, radiation from his neck through his entire body, pinpricks of discomfort accompanying every single piece of his existence. He was frightened, but even through the fear taking hold of his brain, he could feel the way in which his chest expanded… could feel the steady rise and fall of his ribcage… and he knew it wasn’t his doing. He wasn’t the one breathing.

It was a machine doing the job for him.

And that was an entirely different kind of horrible realization.

Suddenly a hand was pressed against his forehead, and Dick opened his eyes again, only to stare in the face of Cass. She was… frowning. And Dick wanted to cry. Maybe he did.

“Shht, it will be alright.”

 _No, it won’t_ , Dick wanted to answer, but all that escaped him was a pitiful whisper of a moan. He couldn’t move – his arms pinned down by restraints – and he couldn’t speak – his tongue and thorax numb – and he couldn’t even breathe – his life hanging on by barest threat.

Dick had every right to be afraid – he had every right to cry.

And he did – every sob silent, every wave of sorrow a crescendo of agony.

He wanted to breathe. He wanted the pain to stop.

Cass’s hand combed through his hair, someone – probably Damian – still sleeping by his side. Her words were silent, but easy and clear:

“We are taking care of you. You are one of our own – we protect and love our own. Everything will be alright.”

It was hard to dismiss Cass when she spoke like that, all angles and precision, but Dick… for once in his life he felt unable to believe in his little sister. It hurt too badly… he couldn’t even speak…

“Yes! YES! **_YEAH!!!_** ”

Another voice.

Someone Dick knew – but it was hard to focus. Not that he had to wonder for long, Tim appearing in his field of vision as well:

“We did it! I DID IT! I found… I found an antidote… Dick, _I found an antidote_ …”

Tim was crying as well.

* * *

Cass stood in front of Dick’s room, unsure if she was welcome. The man had survived a rough couple of days and the last time it had only been the two of them, Cass had read the contempt coiled up in his unresponsive body.

He had been suffering, and Cass had been the wrong person to offer comfort. Dick had needed someone else back then, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t be that.

She found that she liked being the one that others could count on – but that only worked if the other person wanted her to be there for them. Dick had wanted different things; things, Cass couldn’t offer.

She had been unable to ease his pain or to end his suffering – apparently it was a bad idea to mix pain medication with unknown toxins.

So, she had watched by his side as he cried and raged and whimpered in agony, unable to help. She would have been unhappy with herself as well, if their roles were reversed.

But Tim had found an antidote, and now four days after administering it, Dick had finally been allowed back in his room in the penthouse. Cass didn’t think that Damian had left Dick’s side since the man had first woken up in a fever haze, and even now she was sure that Damian was waiting for her on the other side of this door as well.

It was time she faced her demons.

Her knock was simple: Short and sharp and very precise. It was the same way Bruce used to knock before he died, and Cass had always appreciated the simplicity of the act. There was a certain beauty in clear cut lines and acts of simple straightforwardness.

She missed Bruce.

“Yes?”

It was Damian, who answered, but Cass took what she could get. She stepped inside the room, and was surprised the sight in front of her: Dick was still connected to an oxygen tank and an IV. He had a sickly pallor, and Cass could see the exhaustion and illness radiate from his body. The last few days had truly cost him, his reserves spent and his body begging for rest. But he was also smiling. Pressed firmly to his right side was Damian, sitting in bed with a sketch book open on his knees. The boy was frowning, but the relief of Dick surviving was still bright in his very posture.

What really surprised her, however, were the other two occupants of the room. Tim and Jason.

Jason was leaning next to the window, staring across Gotham with headphones covering his ears. Cass would bet that he was listening to an audiobook to bridge the time. His stance was… weirdly relaxed and Cass knew that that was partly due to Dick’s health getting better, and thanks to the fact that they were in the penthouse and not the Manor.

Tim… Tim was sitting on Dick’s right, laptop open in front of him, slight tension visible in his shoulders. Tim was always tense… and yet this was probably the most relaxed Cass had seen him in a long, long time.

All of them were together.

And now she had joined them as well.

Anxiety was bubbling in her stomach, the idea of being here suddenly so silly in her mind, but before she could leave, Dick’s tired whisper broke through her panic:

“I was just about to ask Dames to get you. Tim said, we could watch a movie.”

Without looking up from his laptop Tim nodded, and Cass eased back into her body. She was smiling when she answered Dick:

“I would love to. Can I… Can I cuddle with you as well?”

Dick nodded, and Damian only grumbled a little bit, when she pushed past him to lean against Dick’s left side. Up close it was even more evident, how wrecked the man was, Dick’s eyes still hazy from the antidote, the pain medication, and the fever cursing through his veins.

He was Batman, maybe not her Batman, but A Batman… and a wonderful one at that. But he was also fragile – Cass would have to look after him in the future.

“I’m sorry you were in pain.”

Her voice was silent, too silent for anyone but Dick to hear. She watched as he recognized her words, worked through them, and she saw something in his face shortly before he answered, but it was not an emotion she knew, or an expression she was overtly familiar with:

“I… thank you, Cass. And you don’t have to be sorry. I was… not in the right mind. Thank you for taking care of them while I was down for the count.”

He meant it. He really meant it.

Even if there was nothing, he had to be sorry for either.

She pressed her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the smell of hospital and Alfred’s favorite soap:

“Always, Big Guy. We are family. This is what family is for.”

She was right, and from the comforting rise and fall of his chest, Cass could tell that Dick agreed as well.

**Author's Note:**

> First Off: There is no neurotoxin that works like that.  
> Second Off: You probably can't use a rebreather as means to help with an Intubation.  
> Third Off: Damian could have done that with a pen, the knife was only for DRAMA  
> Forth Off: Dick would be in considerably more pain, since Intubations are extremely painful, and ventilation is usually only used when the patient is fully unconscious since they would usually try to rip it from their throat otherwise. (an incision like the one Dick has is not as painful, since the gag reflex doesn't get triggered but he would probably still feel it and be EXTREMELY uncomfortable)


End file.
